


of ambrosia & jasmines

by calcifers



Category: BLACKPINK (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, F/F, Fluff, Greek Mythology - Freeform, How Do I Tag, goddess!jennie, idk how to tag, mortal!jisoo, slight body horror, uh will be adding more tags as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22545235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calcifers/pseuds/calcifers
Summary: this is for the lovers who ever run before the clock—because in this game of divinity and mortality, only one shall prosper to balance the other’s downfall.(or: she helped destroy what she grew to love.)
Relationships: Jennie Kim/Kim Jisoo
Comments: 18
Kudos: 69





	1. THE AITEON - BEFORE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is my first ever work on ao3 and is also cross posted on wattpad!
> 
> this baby will be mainly based on hesiod's theogony (a poem regarding the genealogies and aetiologies of the greek gods) but i'll still be taking a few liberties in some elements
> 
> anyways. enjoy !
> 
> ¹ God of roads — Hermes, able to travel fast between all realms  
> ² Helios — personification of the sun  
> ³ Chaos — primordial existence of the universe  
> ⁴ Ichor — blood of the gods  
> ⁵ Glorious Twelve — the Olympian gods  
> ⁶ Olympus — home of the gods  
> ⁷ Sinuous-minded Titan — Cronus, leader of the Titans. "Sinuous-minded" was an epithet used to address him  
> ⁸ The Keres (Akhlys, Nosos, Ker) — female spirits of violent death. Akhlys as the personification of the mist of death; Nosos as sickness; Ker as destruction

** **BEFORE** ** ****

**❝ falling in love with a god**  
 **is not a death sentence. ❞**  
 **—** **_O.G.K_**

**i.** girl ( _jim sturgess_ ) // **ii.** cathedrals ( _jump, little children_ ) // **iii.** halo ( _jasmine thompson_ ) // **iv.** come into the water ( _mitski_ ) // **v.** holding the gun ( _sabrina claudio_ ) // **vi.** if it hurts ( _gallant_ )

* * *

**_THE_** order is like this: life is breathed into the bones of mortals by tender flowers and wild plants springing up from the bare ground of their own accord, reflecting the way of life of untamed beasts and all of creation that preceded. Arrangements are made with a twirl of a finger and as swift as the god of roads, the pieces assemble themselves before the skies cast a golden hue on the horizon where Helios descends. Dripping from honeydew slumber and the startling wake of restless limbs, the humans are left to flourish in the passing of time.

There’s a balance to it. It’s all kinds of harmonious, but only a few will believe it to be truly cordial. The absolute law in the world of the divine is raw; once you’re born into it, the role must be upheld. It’s only the foundations of how the world works.

This is where mortals are allowed to just _be_ —to offer an indication of vulnerability or a predisposition. The gods thrive on the magnitude of what they’re able to make out of it—a touch for a new life, a glance for induced love, a kiss for intoxicating death.

It takes a lot to be human, takes a lot to become the prime incarnation of what the universe has moulded them into.

In all of Nie’s primeval existence, she’s never had to pity mortals. She understands.

The jubilation, prosperity, suffering—those subjected to impermanence from the beginning are given all, but of course they don’t see it. They don’t know that Chaos lives through their ephemeral blood, that a piece of the primordial existence’s body and soul have fused itself with the fire igniting their veins.

Nie couldn’t be any more envious, but she’s never resentful. She’s a daughter of the Night, a goddess with an ominous glow who drowned in the beauty of darkness before she came to be. She can never be resentful.

A bloodcurdling scream pierces through the evening, alerting every sense of the deity’s intangible form. There’s a numbing ripple that washes over her figure then, one far too familiar for her to make a judgement about it anymore. Nie’s eyes have lit up in an electrifying purple, vision scanning through the assemblage of towering trees before her. Past the trunks, past the branches and leaves, past the only river running across the forest and into a clearing, she sees.

Blood-splattered hands and claws strike one another, flesh and meat colliding, bruising, wounding. The beast throws itself against the mortal woman’s body, boastfully roaring and baring its fangs so as to assert more of its strength. The human does nothing in response, and makes herself as still as a boulder underneath the lion’s weight. Nie can put it all on hold, but the pitiful fate of the mortal woman will still be pulled by the strings no matter the delay.

The overwhelming presence of her sisters flitting around her suspends any thoughts of interruption. Their shrill voices echo in the dismal air, and the goddess can almost feel them penetrate through her mind as they always do before a meal. _They’re trying to spite me again_.

Nie, in all her terrorising glory, fiercely drives out a masked force from the tips of her makeshift fingers, and directs its concentration towards the two gruesome death-spirits who share the same lethal ichor as hers. Every hint of life surrounding her stills for a moment, as if patiently waiting for a great disturbance of the tranquility. Nature knows restlessness all too well, the kind that presents itself before a divine entity. More so with the children of the Night.

The fading vigour within the daemons is almost palpable, its impact elevating Nie’s state of mind. She looks on in silence as she senses both of them recklessly fall to the ground one after another, battered wings crashing onto the solid earth. They never learn how to respect their dearest, older sister. They simply can’t resist the urges of what the sun and light being absent bring, but she won’t ever stand for mischief involving work.

The dark goddess’ heavy gaze on the beast and mortal doesn’t waver in the slightest with the commotion behind her. Nie knows her purpose tonight, and every other day after that; she has painfully etched the essence of her duty across the webs of her detonator of a brain. Knows too well of the poor acknowledgement she’ll receive, and yet her abstract heart continues to bleed.

(She fights for the one who sewed strings of life across her palms, who placed her in this order of existence and non-existence, who bore her even before the glorious Twelve marked their feet on Olympus. She’s a goddess, and she’ll blossom and bear fruits unwanted because the damned is the most tempting, and everyone will know she’s a daughter of the Night.)

This is all Nie has. Three, maybe two, steps away from a blessed curse. She’ll devour it whole and hurt just like that sinuous-minded Titan.

She’ll _devour_ it, she _must._

“ _Foolish Deadly Fate_ , that’s what you are,” a grisly hiss resounds from the spaces between the foliage, but only the deity is able to hear it. Akhlys never fails to speak up first, forever dripping venom at the tip of her wily tongue. “A _farce_ , a _mishap_. You make a mockery of our nature.”

An imitation of the daemon’s words follow afterwards, Nosos always having no creative input in what she wants to express to the goddess. They’re merely a pathetic flock of mindless predators in her eyes.

“I have no need for insulting anything,” Nie breaks away from her fixed stare of the lion and human (who are at war once again). She lazily tilts her head towards the least obnoxious of the Keres and drawls, “Why would I claim our brother’s own profession?”

Nosos, suddenly disturbed at the mention of their scornful relative, nods at Nie with great conviction. “It’s already madness wherever he goes!” Her younger sister’s hands fly about in her face, evidently vexed to which the goddess becomes appreciative of. She doesn’t need any more tension for this evening, her hands are full enough as it is.

Though Akhlys doesn’t seem to mirror her feelings, and audibly screeches at the immediate turn of conversation. “Don’t think for one second that we’re blind to your true colours, _sister_ ,” she spits, sharp teeth gnashing and emitting the most awful of sounds. The other one promptly repeats her words, but Nie doesn’t bat an eye at Nosos’ change in attitude at all.

“You hesitated again—” Akhlys doesn’t get to display her full contempt against the deity, as another deafening wail cuts through the air.

Nie breathes in the scent of death. Not quite stifling as the poets of the time have spoken it to be. It’s a pungent, sorrowful aroma that gently douses the goddess with a sort of ease; a sense which can never satisfy human rationale. This is the only begrudging truth that prances across the eyelids of the little mortals, the one that they’ll never be able to grasp even if it leads to their undoing for ignorance is bliss. This is what separates a transient being from a timeless entity.

The embers of life within the mortal woman have burnt out, ashes and wisps of deathly smoke wafting in the heat of the approaching night. All three of the divinities stay peculiarly silent for a moment, lengths away from the disorder of cut up flesh and bones. But it’s not the spectacle of it that catches their attention—it’s the foreboding presence of another.

The oldest of the Keres stands tall on an enormous boulder of the clearing, hovering just behind the beast responsible for today’s feast. It’s Nie's most hated kin—the vengeful, wretched Ker; cloaked in sheer devastation, cloaked with adoration.

Nie despises her.

The two other daemons beside her let out an exclamation of delight, pleased with the telling of a mortal’s end of life, as well as the appearance of their favourite sister (never the goddess in any way). They beat their grotesque wings and soar past the body of trees where their new meal awaits them. Ker doesn’t ever glance in the deity’s direction, choosing to indulge in the dining of the human soul instead, but Nie still hears that ceaseless, dynamite voice. She always does.

_“You’re dwindling, darling…foolish, foolish Deadly Fate…”_

It painfully echoes throughout the goddess’ entire being, drenching her in all the outrage of a million soldiers on the verge of death. They scream in pain, in anguish, in the name of _glory_ —not a shred of what Nie encompasses. Ker has become the embodiment of all the tragedies that the goddess has succeeded in painting over herself.

And there’s nothing she can do. She lets the inferior divinities deride her for simply what she truly is: a travesty. 

So Nie sinks into dashed hopes, heavy and iron-gripped in their hold of her clouded heart, and turns achingly slow from the grim scene unfolding in front of her. She has fulfilled her duty, but there’s no rest for a wayward soul hellbent on sacrificing the hands of her own time.

It’ll be the last time they punish her with malignant taunts, for she has unraveled the inner vices that make up her godly veins and will set them ablaze once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a classics major and i'm aware this should be my forte, but if y'all catch me slipping....... i'm only human too
> 
> so rlly, pls be nice 2 me i am small and in need of validation. thank you for your time
> 
> catch me on my socials:  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/pinksdior) \+ [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/fairyspoet)  
> talk to me on my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/flwrbmb) !


	2. COUP DE FOUDRE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ chelys — a stringed musical instrument; closely related to the lyre  
> ² Aphrodisia — a festival in honour of Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty  
> ³ Cythera — an island in (ancient) Greece where Aphrodite was born (off the coast), hence its large cult following of the goddess  
> ⁴ Thanatos — god of non-violent death  
> ⁵ The Titans — deities that preceded the Olympian gods  
> ⁶ Earth-shaker — an epithet used to address Poseidon, god of the sea  
> ⁷ Nyx — primordial goddess/personification of the night (mother of the Moirai & Moros)  
> ⁸ The Moirai — the three goddesses of fate and destiny, controlling the lives of mortals  
> ⁹ Moros — originally a male god, but gender-swapped for story purposes

**_NIE_ ** discovers her new purpose among the magic of the midsummer celebrations.

It’s an utter pandemonium of intense festivities; skin against skin, tender touches of nimble fingers, all with the faith of a devoted believer in lust and love. Wine and fruits are shared from a set of tempting lips to another, lighted oil lamps illuminate every figure, and intimate bodies sway to the fine melodies of the _chelys_ —the festival of Aphrodisia is flourishing with life.

In the quest for her ascent to honour, the dark goddess finds herself in a modest village nestled between two mountains and the sea. It’s been several hours since sundown, and the jubilant sounds of mortal men and women have stolen Nie's attention while effortlessly gliding across the lands.

She recognises this particular village belonging to the city of Cythera. The irony of its beauty lies within the abundance of departed souls haunting the shorelines of the ocean, and tonight is no exception; but their wandering spirits are not a worthy matter for the goddess to concern herself with, it’s a task arranged for the gentlest of the death gods—Thanatos.

It’s not the radiance of the celebrations that has beckoned Nie to approach. For the order to be conducted, it is she who has to open her eyes first; to exhale the ill-fated whispers first; to stand ahead of her brothers and sisters first. Before Thanatos, before Ker, there is Nie.

The deity has finally resolved to raising hell among the immortals, and tonight’s festivities signify her beginnings.

It goes like this: death is breathed into the bones of of mortals by callous vines and fatal seeds shooting up from the bare ground under her command, reflecting the circle of death of wronged creatures and all of destruction that preceded. The only arrangement there is in this drive of leading humans to their imminent fate is the long-winding path to where the lifeless reside. It’s nothing but natural.

The dark goddess is not vindictive. She doesn’t speak with her heart because it’s a strange, strange thing. She has learned to pretend that things only matter for their worth, and she has learned that not a lot of things _should_ matter for their worth. She doesn’t speak with her heart, but her heart unmistakably speaks for her, and when do the gods ever leave their hearts out unfettered?

What she wants is a simple thing. The mortals are full of it, and yet she can’t so as much grasp even a grain. Love is, Nie determines, an omnipresent force that even her ichor filled kin must bear the weight of; they’re not free of the shackles any less than the enslaved Titans below the earth.

(Her mother consumes the current state of the time, having always emerged from the depths of the otherworld in these hours. Nie feels her unnerving presence deplete her of any second thoughts. If she’s watching, so be it.)

The festival of Aphrodisia is still rumbling with spirit, and though the deity’s curiosity is only innocent at best (as far as wanting to observe the mortals and their odd ways of enjoyment can go), what she creates is not. It’s an excellent ground to unleash her plans, but Nie isn’t one to execute things urgently. There’s something in the gradual scheme of things that only proves her affinity with darkness.

Heavy gasps of air greet Nie when she reaches one of the pathways leading into the open sea. There, crouching by the shrubs, sits a girl who looks too young and too defenseless. Her face is fresh, naive, but pink is smeared across her nose and cheeks and the goddess almost halts in her steps. The ivory garment she dons leaves her shoulders too bare, fair skin sprayed with blades of grass. Raven hair that puts the night sky to shame cascades down her chest, silky to the touch and carefully glossed underneath the moon’s glare. It’s all sorts of wonderful, but her lips—Nie has never witnessed anything quite like it. She thinks of flower petals and bright colours. Pretty ones.

The mortal girl’s orbs are a dilated honey brown, flickering wildly but never landing on the deity. Those soft, rosy lips of hers are curved into a small smile, and Nie briefly wonders if the girl would ever speak to her if she makes her presence known. (That’s just how it is, really. The goddess can only wonder, think, dream, and all she’s ever gotten—ever going to get—is the faltering responsibility she holds as a higher power.)

It’s not hesitating. She’s much too aware of the line between allowing life and bringing death. She’s aware, and will eternally be aware of the reality of her being.

A faint chuckle emits from the human’s mouth, and Nie tries to dispel any sense of awe at such a delicate sound. Mortals intoxicated on wine have never looked as lovely as it does at this moment. The girl studies the deserted garden they’re in one last time—as if expecting more of her kind (the mad, the vulnerable) to appear—and eventually rises from her concealed spot. It takes her approximately ten seconds to adjust to her surroundings, and another ten to look for an escape from the shrubs.

After doing so, she fiddles her way out of the plants and takes off in the direction of the ocean in a heartbeat. The ends of her long dress flutter to the rhythm of the wind, and only then does Nie acknowledge the bare feet of the mortal girl. It’s enveloped in crisp scars, all angry red from the raw blood pumping in her vessels. Pretty girl doesn’t seem to mind though, speedily racing across the shell-covered seashore with a carefree manner in her tracks.

It’s a thrilling sight to behold, the silhouette of a girl running towards the ominous waves of the earth-shaker’s territory. Nie almost feels like it’s all a secret for her to keep, a memory for her to reserve in the pits of her consciousness. It feels oddly pleasant.

When the mortal girl finally reaches the shoreline, toes playfully dipping by the lapping waters, the goddess is suddenly dawned with the purpose of her own appearance. Her mood doesn’t sour, doesn’t dither. She allows herself to only be a little bit remorseful of what’s going to come, nothing too pitiful that questions her position as an entity bigger than most.

Nie knows how this works. And she’ll be damned if the immortals live through millennials without the knowledge of the gravity of her powers.

She begins it with the whispers of false remedials, draping the mortal with distant, arcane words and hymns. A turn of the head is all it needs for their eyes to meet, to find a point where all senses become expelled from the body. The soul bounds itself somewhere beyond the humans’ reach, and now nature knows when to look away. This will be the sole instance of a mortal basking in the presence of a god.

Free of the mind, the heart, and the world, is what Nie momentarily grants them with—the highest plane of being an entity tied to the circle of life and death. Their eyes lose their vigour and soul, perceiving nothing but the essence of true emptiness. She thinks they look better this way. There’s no crease visible, no furrow of the brows, no frowns; it’s what they all look like when crossing the threshold of their eternity.

The goddess then sees flashes. Luminous, vivid, but fleeting visions. Or at least they’re supposed to be. She wavers, and the stillness of the night only agitates her—something’s not right.

Fragments of warm smiles and lively bodies dart in all places behind Nie's eyelids, each and every single vision holding too much vibrancy and spirit. They’re too quick, too rapid, but she’s not prepared to let go of this fortuity just yet. It’ll be ridiculous, the human girl is still the first objective. She wills herself to delve a little deeper, to pinpoint the exact cause of the poor mortal’s demise.

Grains. That’s all Nie ends up with. A blur of images accompanied with distant, sunken voices. They echo in her head, but it’s far too obscure for her to embrace. The mental picture flickers and she sees the trembling of the mortal girl’s body somewhere (unloading harsh cries from beyond the vision), surrounded in dandelions and greenery (another cry), yet the deity’s still unable to sense the second presence who holds all the responsibility of it ever occurring (heavier cries).

Nie can smell the desperation of her power channeling, almost akin to that of an inferno thriving by the second, and she fears it’ll break her. Several minutes tick by before she ultimately ceases her divination of the human. It’s awfully silent, the stifling air of the summer adding to the uneasiness swirling throughout her entire body. This isn’t the first time she’s met with a futile attempt in finding the root of a mortal’s fate, but it still doesn’t make it any less offensive.

As she watches the drunken girl’s figure fall to the sand, all limp and seemingly lifeless (but not really dead), Nie starts to devise a new approach of uncovering the mortal’s potential perpetrator. She may have failed in her first person of sacrifice, but she makes it so that she always sees the fruits of her own labour in the end— _always_.

So with a graceful rush of air, the goddess manifests herself right beside the human girl in the blink of an eye. Morphing a piece of herself into something tangible—she settles for a human hand—two slender fingers gingerly make their way across the girl’s forehead, where a motion of symbols that spell out the goddess’ true name is carried out. It’s written in the very own language of the immortals, not of the familiar alphabet of the human natives; it’d be much too foreign for their simple tongues.

Nie’s nothing but an alias. Her very own identity carries more commanding titles; as the dark deity of the Night, borne from the lone cosmos of the daughter of Chaos—the great Nyx; as the older sister to the Heavenly Fates, the Moirai, all bound to the acts of overseeing destiny; as the one to endlessly drive mortals to their deadly fates, bearing that dreadful name they’ll never dare speak of and to which she has granted the mark for the human girl to endure the value of.

Her name is _Moros_ , condemning and bewitching _Moros_ —the goddess of impending doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on my socials:  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/pinksdior) \+ [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/fairyspoet)  
> talk to me on my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/flwrbmb) !


	3. STRANGE BEAUTY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SLIGHT TW: BODY HORROR
> 
> ¹ Lady of Cythera — an epithet for Aphrodite, goddess of love, as the location claims to be her place of birth  
> ² Aphrodite Urania — another epithet for Aphrodite to signify her heavenly aspect, and is what her temple in Cythera based on  
> ³ opisthodomos — the rear room of an ancient Greek temple, mostly for equipment use or for keeping treasury  
> ⁴ hiereia — a title given to female priestesses of a religious cult; they also administer its affairs  
> ⁵ Selene — goddess of the moon  
> ⁶ ambrosia — food and drink of the gods

**_GODS_ ** never leave traces in their wake, at least not without a goal or intent to reveal their abilities. In some way or another, there will be messages—sacred messages—to take heed from its remnants. For Nie, it’s never been a matter of seeking recognition for the sake of worship (as with all those who embody darkness in their being, because to praise death is to accept it and non-immortals are greedy little things).

It’s simply to mark her chosen victim. Claiming her name on that mortal girl only suspends her great scheme of committing a revolution against the gods (against her mother), which she aims to execute through humans (pretty mortal girl as the first step), and nothing more. That’s her plan: to draw a chain of accelerated deaths and misfortunes all alone and under her sole hand. Nie can see into the bloodbath it’ll cause, the shift in the balance it’ll create, and what she anticipates the most—the reverence and terror in the eyes of those who have undervalued her.

Except—the first sacrifice is already ruining everything.

The goddess has already sealed a part of herself within the girl. To remove it and proceed to another mortal will only dwindle her power, and she can’t afford that; divine names are not to be heedlessly inscribed anywhere for they hold half of the power of its host. Her hours of leisure are non-existent as a divine, as a child of the Night; she’s not so carefree to dawdle like those Olympians with their paramours. It has to be done before the summer solstice ends, before the hour she was bloomed to life.

It’d be the most glorious victory in all lifetimes, to end it where she began.

So she burns this ambition in her very core, restlessly stirring inflamed thoughts within her mark on the human. It flares hot glows of white and violets where it was traced, only attesting to the bond they now share. Nie, at long last, briefly detects a slight movement in her state of slumber. There’s nothing else in her power to hasten the return of her consciousness, so she watches in silence.

Watches the placid fall and rise of the mortal’s chest, watches the gentle swoop of the air rustle the locks of her hair, watches the subtle shift behind her closed eyes as she meets fellow free spirited people in her dreams, chasing butterflies and all lovely things that mortality can never ruin.

The vulnerability of a girl brimming with madness in her veins is all that’s sprawled out before the deity’s haunting eyes, and it’s all she _sees_. All she’s pulled into. It eases her aroused emotions about her great scheme of annihilating humankind, and Nie finds herself relenting just a little.

She always relents. But that’s what invariably disturbs the tune of things, where she’ll realise she doesn’t have the ability to harmonise with the sounds she’s made for herself anymore. It’s exhausting to be continuously torn between desires brewed from despair, and desires that are innately cut out from her godly heart. (Though at the very least, she takes pride in her capacity to distinguish from the two.)

From the distance, Nie suddenly picks up on the sound of mortal feet pounding against the ground, hasty and urgent in their rush. Their voices mingle and she hears muffled curses and restless prayers, some indifferently, some compassionately. It’s with desperation and fear that the goddess catches on; they must be searching for someone.

It doesn’t take a moment for her to guess who, but with her discontentment of the human girl’s divination from earlier subdued, Nie’s not alarmed about her captive being brought back to safety as much. Or what’s left of safety at all, as a god’s mark on a mortal never ends well in the presence of other living beings. And by any means, this unconscious girl has somehow called forth more sacrifices in her wake. Nie thrills on the act of hospitality tonight, but the Cytherean air is calmingly loose that (questionably) compels the goddess to lay hidden in the midst of the summer night and just _wait_.

Wait for the horde of— _not_ intoxicated, Nie observes—humans to recognise their friend in her comatose state, for them to rejoice in not losing her to the hands of the sea god as they’ve believed to be their land’s curse, for them to hoist her up their loyal arms where they finally guide her back home. Wait for _her_ , because she’s the first. Wait for _her_ , because she has to be the first.

Nie relents.

* * *

The goddess of doom finds that her chosen mortal girl is named Jisoo.

Jisoo of the Kim lineage, belonging to a household of prominence as well as opulence; devoted worshippers of the Lady of Cythera; dutiful priestesses of Aphrodite Urania. Kim Jisoo, in all her untroubled and jovial character when inebriated with wine, is anything but a simple girl. 

It’s been distinguished by the rich material of her robe, fair skin that has only received the utmost care, and the gravity that her mere appearance holds. To target an eternal servant of one of the more ill-tempered goddesses of the pantheon has never crossed Nie’s mind in this personal mission of hers, but it works conveniently for her grand scheme. Let this be the start of her revolution, a collateral war against everyone’s dearest Aphrodite, where she’ll emerge as triumphant.

It’s from the mutterings of Jisoo’s saviours that Nie comes to know of such information. Latching onto their shadows, she trails after them through the rear of their beloved temple, where it’s completely deserted of people. They indulge themselves with prodding at their unconscious friend and cursing Jisoo’s name for bringing inconveniences at such an important time. _Ah_. The Aphrodisia festival is only on its first night, it seems. The temple is already occupied enough as it is.

So with no delay, all five of Jisoo’s rescuers scurry to the entrance of the _opisthodomos_ , a lush tapestry hung over its opening. The group announces their arrival, but no one moves to enter. There’s a rapping sound of a wooden door and a slender hand appears to draw the tapestry back moments later, revealing a middle-aged woman with a prominent frown. Nie recognises the overbearing demeanour most of all, having witnessed enough entitled humans of high position in her lifetime.

Before her is undeniably the High Priestess of Aphrodite Urania. There’s a name that hangs on the tip of the goddess’ tongue, one that she’s heard before in passing from the loquacious mouths of mountain and sea nymphs alike. To have forgotten it so easily, she supposes, suggests there’s nothing noteworthy about such a woman. (But Nie finds odd things interesting, a misfit even among her divine peers. Judgement only comes easy because she has a mortal girl to claim now.)

The _hiereia_ briefly glances down at Jisoo and when she speaks, her voice echoes throughout the back halls of the temple. “She will not be joining tonight’s festivities, as it is.” A look of disapproval passes over her features as she continues, “Lock her up in here for the night so that she may learn her lesson once more.”

Nie’s curiosity peaks at the woman’s command, but dismisses it as quickly as it came. Kim Jisoo will be found lifeless soon, after all.

With a quiet dismissal of her hand, the group wordlessly disperses and Jisoo is left to rest in this restricted room of the temple. An oil lamp in the corner gives enough light to not drown her in complete darkness, but the goddess’ nature inevitably takes this away; no flames can ever escape a deity who only means harm. Moreover, there are no windows for the moonlight to reach, for Selene’s eyes to peek. Nie’s in her element at last.

Her methods are simple. The first is the most advantageous and ordinary, singing to the hollowest parts of a mortal’s soul and luring them into her domain of fleshing out their destinies. But this fails to be fruitful at times, as Jisoo's fate had shown the goddess. So now Nie has to resort to the second one, where it involves more physical contact.

Jisoo continues to lay perfectly still on a wooden bed, very much deep in her slumber. Through the goddess’ vision in the dark, she then approaches the unguarded girl and envelops a handful of her divine aura around Jisoo’s fingers, light to the touch but chill-inducing to the bone. It’s an act that closely resembles hand-holding, if not for the deity’s current intangible form. With this, Nie begins to absorb controlled portions of the girl’s future memories by tapping into a territory not unfamiliar to her.

And yet—again.

The goddess is only presented with a stream of unwanted images. _Life_ , she perceives, _there’s too much_ life _in this child’s future._ It’s an oddity, really. Nie has never felt such an overwhelming surge of spirit from a mere mortal, whether it all falls under something good or evil. There’s only raw power continuously blooming ahead of Jisoo.

It sets something ablaze within Nie. A string of unseen events one after another, even if it's too early to conclude anything. There’s only one solution to such an occurrence.

Kim Jisoo’s soul has to be extracted from her corporeal state; torn apart by the seams of her psyche so that an offspring of the Night such as Nie would be able to bask in whatever humanly divine force she carries. The abundance of life from the human girl is as unsettling as it is intriguing. Perhaps there’s no miracle force within, perhaps Jisoo’s been blessed by the goddess of youth—whatever it is, Nie’s entire being trembles with a killer instinct.

It screams at her to _destroy_ , to _consume_ this girl as would the waves crash violently against the shore.

As would the god of war fuel bloodshed on a battleground, leaving a wake of carcasses for the death spirits to feast on.

As would her mother vehemently crush her skull with lovely palms that have moulded and devastated the universe again and again.

_Kill, kill, kill._ This is the nature of Nyx’s primordial children; a great deity of doom’s grand design.

Such an essence can’t be eradicated easily, as executed by the forming dark lines on Jisoo’s fair skin. It breaks out into a grey colour, beginning at her fingertips and creeping up, up, up. The surface of the skin steadily turns into a rough texture, intensifying by the minute until it mimics the durability of an already crumbling stone. Nie relishes in the sight of something dying in front of her, grazing each and every crack on Jisoo’s arms, shoulders, neck—

She stops.

Jisoo’s resting visage is eerily serene. Under the darkness of the room, the goddess stares and thinks. _What an exotic face_. The High Priestess looks nothing like Jisoo. Not in the shape of her eyes, the curve of her lips, the slope of her nose. In truth, Nie finds that there’s a likeness in Jisoo’s outrageously bewitching features to that of ambrosia, something to be devoured by gods and goddesses only. It doesn’t become any less uninspiring the more she looks at it.

Here, the goddess admires her art. She reaches out a ghost-like hand to caress the mortal’s face and presses her fingers down on the collar bones, the markings of death stopping just below them.

The silence pierces through the night, and the fire within Nie dwindles until the last of its embers have dissipated. The touch of a deity of doom lingers across Jisoo’s now restored body, but sickness will not arrive until their bond is severed. There has been a moment of blindness in tonight’s ploy, a distraction and impulse to deplete life where Chaos all but encourages a hand, but the goddess will end this fairly as planned. She’ll return tomorrow to pursue Jisoo’s cause of death.

Moros reminds herself that she drives mortals to their impending fate. She has a duty to fulfill. She must not stray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello yes i'm alive is anyone still reading this
> 
> i apologise for disappearing for 10 whole months but i finally mustered enough inspo to bring you this word vomit. at least we got some bp content during that time.... i hope y'all are doing good tho!!
> 
> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/pinksdior) \+ [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/fairyspoet) \+ [cc](https://curiouscat.me/flwrbmb) !


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